Paragons of Y'Sharrj
by Austro-Hungarian Empire
Summary: The final thoughts of the Wind Reaver. Upon his role in the empire, his role to his God and his role as a friend to a hero of Azeroth.
**Disclaimer: I do not own WoW.**

The violet light shone to him. Then it was gone.

Images of a long dead god appear in the a flash but disappear into the infinite void.

It was an innate emotion; A chained ball anchoring his heart.

Why? Why must he kneel to this one, he reasoned, as he is dead. Joining the Void of violence which he sought to create of the world.

He found why. Because he was created to. Every fiber of his carapace quivered at the very thought of this being, in his own twisted yet divine glory and power.

He created the past.

He molded the present.

He will be, in and of itself, the future.

This entity would lead his people to salvation for loyal service. Or would he?

These emotions of unquestionable loyalty and freedom will conflicted for many years in this mantid's mind. Reasons of merely being a pawn flashed and danced constantly, sinking deeper then any physical wound he had yet to endure.

These thoughts thrived upon his current assignment as well, which had him even more displeased.

Here, him and his paragons, including the last two of the Klaxxi, stand by the side of a power hungry orc.

This orc merely had the heart. The heart of his master. The mantid creator. Y'Shaarj.

There it was again. The cold shiver that ran through his body.

The name resonated through his entire being.

He was bound to that name more than his title given to him by the Klaxxi.

Wind-Reaver. Such a proud name. Yet seemingly a pawn in the end. Again, another wound to his identity.

How can such a strong race be subjugated like this? First Y'Shaarj, then the Sha, finally Garrosh.

A superior race to all others, surely. A constant cycle of evolution. The weak are weeded off whilst the superior survive and carry on. Every generation sees it's cannon fodder, it's veteran warriors and it's champions. Yet they elude perfection.

Why? Why? Why? That question seemed to elude him more than his God.

Miles away from home, heart and mind in disarray as he hovers above unfamiliar ground now thoroughly painted with mantid blood. Mighty Wind-Reaver, vicious warrior and Amber Wing ace, doomed to die miles away from his birthing ground.

All for a God long dead and nearly forgotten. Such a sardonic fate for a home grown paragon.

At least he died the way he knew he would, as many of his brothers did: in battle.

Yet his combatants were known inferiors save for one. The Awakener.

By dear Y'Shaarj, the paragons would be victorious had it not been for the Awakener not joined the false side. He had fought alongside the Awakener. None a mightier warrior had the Wind-Weave fought besides; truly a rare exception to any race that comes around perhaps once in a millenia.

Fighting alongside this champion was an honor. He respected the Awakener as he would his fellow paragons.

He watched intently, his thoughts shifting from that of his questionable freedom to the battle at hand. The Awakener was currently in intense combat with Korvan the Prime.

Amber clashed with foreign weapons as the Awakener used full force upon one swift motion, Korvan knocked off the Awakener's helm to which Korvan was simultaneously struck down.

Kil'ruk's gaze focused upon the Awakener's face. Concentration was in every corner of the expression, a hardened wall portrayed no emotional reaction. However...the eyes told a different story.

Streaks down the face made a barely noticeable reflection off the light in the room. It came in a slow stream, this water leaking from the Awakener's eye. The Wind Weave knew of this condition; he remembered seeing Shado-Pan defenders doing such things as they mourned their comrades.

The Awakener was... _crying_.

He mourned the fallen paragons as the Shado-Pan mourned their kin. But why?

Kil'ruk had considered the Awakener stronger than this. The Klaxxi were now the Awakener's enemy yet the Awakener still sobbed for them. Still cared.

Too many questions demanded Kil'ruk's attention as his thoughts shifted back from the battle and into himself. Too many to questions, so little time to ponder them.

Kil'ruk surmised that him and the Awakener has once been comrades. Dare he say _friends_.

Yes, of course. Him, the Awakener and the other paragons were friends.

Memories pirouetted within his insectoid brain on the numerous occasions in which him and the Awakener were back to back, slaying hordes of mantid and Sha alike throughout the Dread Wastes.

Such better times than what he faced now.

However his mind had been decided, his final resolve affirmed: Y'Sharrj was the future of the mantid. A true superior the Old God is. In the end the Old Gods will return and lead the mantid to their rightful place as rulers.

He may be slain, however Y'Sharrj will be reborn and the mantid will rise.

His thoughts had closed. He sensed the powers emanating from below. Y'Sharrj's energies will lull him to sleep.

His gaze slowly shifted down below. Xaril's corpse collapsed to the cold, unforgiving floor. The tear flow from the Awakener only seemed to increase from when he had last observed. Distress must be racking the Awakener's heart with every kill.

How weak. Yet...comforting at the same time. Kil'ruk knew not why, nor had he time to debate within himself. The time for debate, pondering and reason was over. All that remained was the battle. And death.

A short exchange took place. The Awakener's voice broke with a final plea to stand down.

A swift refusal followed by a swift engagement. Blows were met with blows. The combat was brutal but ultimately did not matter. Whether it be through magic or weaponry, Kil'ruk fell in battle.

As he lay, bleeding on the floor, mind and eyes clouding over, he cocked his head toward the Awakener. The agony was clear in every corner of the Awakener's face.

Kil'ruk simply grinned, and with his dying breath exhaled, "Well fought, Awakener, well fought."

And with that, the last of the paragons had died. The Klaxxi and it's paragons had been extinguished in one horrible night.

Yet still...the cycle shall continue.

 **Inspired from "Into the Chamber of the Paragons" by Talonwings.**

 **Ah, my beloved viewers, I am alive! Who knew! And this short story first sparked by researched the the mantid to which I must say they are quite interesting, especially the Klaxxi and their paragons. I may very well do more with this insectiod race later in the future. Perhaps.**


End file.
